The Fighting Games
by sundaysundaes
Summary: It started with two stupid lists. And now, with a full-fledged wrestling lineup, Danny Fenton has to fight against Dash, Valerie, ghosts, and so much more — and somehow escape with his secret intact!
1. Prologue

_*Blanket Disclaimer: Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon own Danny Phantom._

**The Fighting Games:**  
>A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Sunday<p>

Prologue:  
>The (Stupid) Lists<p>

* * *

><p>It started with two lists, thrown about the halls of Casper High School. Their author: unknown.<p>

**.**

**Casper High School**  
><strong>Weak List — The Weakest of the Weak<strong>  
>5.) Timothy "Timmy" Sheffield<br>4.) Larry Williams  
>3.) Nathan Thomas<br>2.) Micheal "Mikey" Smith  
>1.) Daniel "Danny" Fenton<p>

**.**

**Casper High School  
><strong>Strong List <strong>—** The Toughest of Tough**  
><strong>5.) Andrew "Andy" Williams  
>4.) Butch Lapaine<br>3.) Kwan Patel  
>2.) Valerie Gray<br>1.) Dashiel "Dash" Baxter

**.**

* * *

><p>"Danny! Danny!"<p>

Danny stopped mid-sentence, turning his attention from Sam to the dark-skinned boy currently propelling himself through the cafeteria doors, waving around two sheets of paper like a madman.

Wait a minute. Paper? Tucker never carried around paper. The techno-geek even made it a point to scan his tests and download them onto his computer's back-up hard-drive whenever teachers returned assignments, not once looking at the actual sheet and only at its pixel replica. Tucker with paper meant bad news.

It didn't take long before Tucker reached their table, gasping for breath, sweat dribbling down his face. He put a hand to the tabletop to regain his wobbly balance. "Man. I need to work out more," he muttered breathlessly.

"You don't say," Sam said sarcastically, stuffing a piece of lettuce into her mouth, smirking at her friend's antics. "Nice entrance, by the way. Everyone's glaring at you for disrupting their mealtime." She waved her plastic spork. "I give it a solid ten in the Annoyance Meter. Good job."

"What's wrong, dude?" Danny asked curiously. "You look like a man who just won the lottery and wants to share it with the world. Except crazier. And not as happy."

Tucker shook his head. "No way, man. It's worse than that." He sat in front of his two friends and showed them the papers in his hand. "Get a load of _these_." Each of them took a sheet.

"The 'Strong List'?" Danny asked in surprise, his eyebrows lifting up as he continued to read.

"The 'Weak List'? Sounds like a bunch of junk made up by the high school social chain to further discriminate those unable to protect themselves." Sam let the paper flutter from her fingers. "It's just a giant load," she said indigently.

"Yeah. Sam's right." Danny let his own page fall to the tabletop. He grabbed a fry from his lunch tray and swiped it in ketchup. "It's just a stupid list. Who cares?"

Tucker frowned. "Well, _you_ haven't seen the Weak List." He picked up Sam's discarded paper. "You'll never guess who's number one."

Danny nearly choked on his own fry. "No," he gasped, his eyes widening. Couldn't be.

Tucker nodded. "'fraid so, man."

"B—but what about Nathan?"

"He's the third one."

"Mikey?"

"Numero dos*, my brother."

Danny groaned, smashing headfirst onto the table. "Ow," he muttered flatly, almost as an afterthought.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't care what a stupid list said."

"That was before I found out I was actually _in_ it!" he said angrily, sounding muffled by the way his face was currently smooshed against the table.

"You're not just in it. You're practically the reason _for_ the list, being number one and all."

"_Thank you_, Tucker."

The technology-obsessed teen merely shrugged. "What? It's true." His eyes flickered to Danny's abandoned lunch. "Hey, Danny, since you're all mopy right now, can I have your fries?"

"Wow. Your ability for compassion _overwhelms_ me sometimes, Tuck."

He grinned at the Goth, completely unabashed. "It's a gift," he said, reaching over and plucking Danny's fry basket from the tray. He popped an overly-moist potato slice inside his mouth almost immediately.

Sam rolled her eyes, turning her attention to her currently-mourning friend. She poked him in the arm. She poked him again when he didn't respond the first time—or the second—or the third...

"Would you please stop?" Danny asked after the fifth poke. "I think you're starting to give me a bruise."

She continued to poke him. "I'm not gonna stop until you pick up your head."

Danny sighed, exasperated. "Fine." He picked up head and stared at her. "Happy?"

"Not until you stop overreacting about that stupid list."

He rolled his eyes, though this time, an actual smile lighted his face. "You already got me to lift my head. Why should I do anything else you say?" he mocked.

"Because if you don't, I'll mass-produce that embarrassing picture of you sleeping with a teddy bear."

His smile immediately fell. "You wouldn't."

"You know I would," she threatened, smirking. "So just lighten up. What's the big deal anyway? So you're number one on the—" she made air-quotes "—'Weak List'. You're a superhero, Danny. If that doesn't prove just how backwards these lists are, I don't know what does."

"No." His shoulder's sagged. "I guess you're right, Sam. Thanks." He smiled at her.

She smiled back, and the moment seemed to last longer than it did.

"Earth to love birds! I'm sitting right here!" Tucker smirked as Sam and Danny jumped apart, with faces slightly redder than before. He chuckled. "If you're going to get lost in each other's eyes like that, just tell me." He flicked a finger behind him, popping another fry in his mouth with his other hand. "I'm as good as gone."

"Ew, Tucker. Swallow before opening your mouth. There's no need for me to see half-digested potato."

Tucker made a great show of gulping down his fry, with sound effects and everything. He opened his mouth wide. "Does it pass inspection, Sam?" he garbled, barely understandable.

"Gross, man," Danny laughed. He bumped fists with Tucker. "Grotesque genius!"

"I try, I try."

"Boys," Sam muttered, scrunching up her nose in disgust. Even so, she smiled fondly and let her expression soften. "But you're my boys, so I guess I have no choice but to put up with you."

Tucker grinned. "You know you love us."

"I'm seriously reconsidering it." She turned to Danny, who had a mischievous glint in his eye that could rival Tucker's. "Feeling better, Danny?"

He nodded. "Lots." He grabbed the discarded papers on the table, and, after a moment's inspection, gingerly ripped them in halves until nothing remained but small pieces of white confetti.

Sam smiled at him. "Now normally," she said, dusting the flecks of paper away from her, "I would scold you for being so inhumane to poor pieces of tree and not recycling, but this time, I'm willing to make an exception."

"Your mercy has no bounds." Danny laughed, and picked up a lone confetti. "Besides," he said, inspecting the piece between his fingers, "who's gonna pay attention to a stupid list posted on the school bulletin board?"

* * *

><p>Apparently, a lot of people.<p>

Danny grimaced and crossed his arms. "Can't you be a little more mature, Dash?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He was surrounded by the other members of the Weak List, who were currently cowering under the full-threat force of the football team. It wasn't all that surprising, considering three of their members had made the Strong List—and above all, had a ferocious knack for picking on those weaker than them.

"Oh, look, guys," Dash sneered, laughing. "The _other_ Number One is trying to brave!" The jocks surrounding the quarterback chortled loudly, making fools of themselves as they purposefully bended over in too-enthusiastic laughter.

Danny sighed. Why, oh why, did he have to have last-period gym, the only class that, during school hours, actually contained the entirety of all of Casper's athletic teams? Fate must have hated him, too, because also in the class were the other four members of the Weak List, who were about as useless in confrontation as Tucker was weak against a sale at the electronics store.

His nerves had already been fizzled out to the point of non-function. He'd had to deal with snide remarks—to his face or otherwise—ever since lunch had let out. Insults from those high up in the popularity ladder he was used to. He could deal with those. But from band nerds? Book worms? _Chess geeks?_

Danny'd had just about enough. It was beyond humiliating to be ridiculed by nerds with too-high pants and so much metal in their mouths, actual drool was dribbling down their chins. It was too much.

He was about ready to completely be done with the day—just _waiting_ for his ghost sense to go off so he could punch out his frustration—when the bell for his last class rang.

And now, he was huddled up against the lockers, his fellow weaklings whimpering beside him, with Dash and his cronies laughing down at their expense. Stupid list, indeed.

"Hey!" came a voice from outside the door. All the boys jumped, surprised, and, for the first time, Danny looked around and realized they were the only ones left in the locker room. Tetslaff banged on the door again. "Get your butts out here!" she barked roughly. "Don't make me come in there."

That's was all it took, and two minutes later, all the boys stood, fully changed into their gym uniforms, in front of their female coach.

Tetslaff frowned deeply. "I'll have you know I don't stand for _tardiness_ in my class," she growled, glaring at her students. "As punishment, you're all going to run five laps around the gym." Even the football players groaned. Tetslaff blew her whistle sharply, cutting off any protests that might have been made. "Did I bat an eye? Move it, maggots! Move!"

Danny was just about to take off running, silently reminding himself to slow down so as not to draw attention, when his ghost sense went off. He could have jumped for joy right there and then. Instead, he smothered his happiness and approached Tetslaff.

"What?" she snarled, looking away from her running students to the boy beside her.

Danny grabbed his stomach theatrically and dealt her with his best "sick" expression, blinking up at her weakly. "I don't feel so good," he moaned. "May I go to the bathroom?"

"By gym socks, Mr. Fenton," Tetslaff grunted, shaking her head, "it's always something with you, isn't it? You gotta stop eating the stuff they serve on Mystery-Meat Monday." She flicked her thumb behind her. "Go on, then."

He went, suppressing a grin as he passed her.

"And..."

He started, turning back to look at her curiously.

"...get your parents to check out your...erm..._problem_." She waved her hand in the air, emphasizing her discomfort with the subject.

Danny nodded, smiling at her. "Will do, coach." He spun on his heel, practically dashing the rest of the way to the bathrooms. Immediately, he looked around, and once he was satisfied there were no prying eyes, he let himself become Phantom, phasing out of the gym and into the school's main hallway. He inspected the area around him.

A red glow shinned underneath the teacher's rec room.

Danny's grin was absolutely feral. "Hel_lo_, misplaced aggression..."

* * *

><p>"What's this?" Pulverizer asked, twisting the sheets of paper in his hand oddly. They looked like lists of some sort.<p>

His assistant—Blaine (master of all Inter-Dimensional Fighting Entertainment planning!)—smiled. "It's a copy of the lists I made for that high school."

"High school?"

Blaine's sighed in defeat, his smile falling. "Don't you remember? The high school we were planning to make our comeback in? The one in the human world?"

Pulverizer tapped his chin. "Now that you mention it... Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

"It was the reason I was gone for over a month, to study the school's weakest and strongest students."

Pulverizer blinked. "You were gone?"

Blaine smacked himself. He knew how forgetful the master was, he should have known better. "Okay, I know," Blaine said suddenly. He flew out in front of Pulverizer. "Remember fifty years ago?"

"When I lost my first bet in an orchestrated fight?" Pulverizer growled, but then, just as suddenly, deflated. "How could I forget? It was the fight that made me stop wanting to fight."

_Good. We're on the right track here._ "Then do you remember three months ago?"

"When we ran out of peanut butter?"

"No—after that."

"When I said I wanted to start the fights again?"

"Yes! And do you remember how you said the only sure-fire way to make sure a ghost won in the final rounds was to have him fight against a human?"

"Yeah. I actually do." Pulverizer looked down at the sheets of paper in his hands, now studying them with interest. "Hmm," he hummed. "And I sent you to find the nearest long-lasting portal to the human world—"

"—to find a self-feeding environment where weakness and strength defined it—"

"—and all you could come up with was a high school?"

Blaine came up short. How was he supposed to explain that Pulverizer had been the one to suggest such a thing in the first place? He looked away. "Uh, yeah."

Pulverizer huffed. "Not my first choice, but it'll have to do." He looked back down at the lists. "And these are the strongest and weakest?"

"Uh-huh."

"Are you sure?"

"I based my studies on who got beat up on a regular basis, how good they were at defending themselves, and athletic skill." Blaine nodded. "I'm positive."

Pulverizer grinned, and the papers went up in flames, only to be replaced by an old-fashioned microphone. He rose from the shadows in his lair, now standing above the pudgy form of Blaine. "Then we have some calls to make," he rumbled evilly, his sunglasses falling to reveal red, unforgiving eyes. "Favors to ask." He laughed maniacally. "The G.F.E. is back in business, baby!"

Blaine coughed.

Pulverizer looked down at the smaller ghost, raising an eyebrow, questioning the interruption of his celebratory speech.

"Actually, it's the _I.D._F.E. now, sir."

"What? Why?"

"It stands for 'Inter-Dimensional'."

"Oh..." Pulverizer thought about it, before shrugging. "I guess that makes sense."

"You can carry on your evil cackling, sir."

"Thank you." And he—quite literally—cackled into the air, swinging his microphone around madly. "Look out, Casper High School. I'm coming to get ya!"

* * *

><p><em>*Spanish Translation:<br>numero dos — number two  
><em>

_A/N: Alrighty then! Prologue's up! The actual idea for the story came to me a while ago, but it wasn't into recently that I actually sat down and wrote anything. Hopefully, it hasn't been done before, and if it has—tough snowballs! I actually like it, and it's staying up until someone pries it from my zombie brain-hungering body._

_Now that the first chapter's up, it hopefully won't take long for the rest of it to come. I'm intending this to be a short story—five chapters, maybe seven—but nothing more._

_And_, I know I shouldn't be publishing a new story, especially when I haven't updated Sundae Cinemas in over a month. Blame this and the dozen unfinished drabbles on my desktop for the lack of updates. But all Requests are in the making and are close to finished. It's that stupid raffle I'm doing that's giving me problems. I should really start thinking these things through..._  
><em>

_But tell me what you think by clicking that little review button at the bottom of the page! It'll make me happy and get the rest of this story up faster. If you want to flame, go ahead. Tell me I suck. Curse me out. I prefer flames over nothing any day. :D  
><em>


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:  
>Round 1<p>

Danny frowned. "Have I said before how much I absolutely _hate_ school assemblies?" he asked quietly, keeping his head down. He didn't want anyone to see him, fearful of running the risk of someone immediately shouting out about his day-old status as the number-one weakling in Casper High. He didn't need that—not this early into the school day.

"Only about seven times in the last thirty minutes," Tucker muttered, angrily shoving his screen-pen at his PDA. He shrugged, not bothering to look up from his game. "But hey, who's counting?"

"Lay off, Tucker," Sam said. She shoved Danny's crouched body beside her playfully. "He's having a bad day, aren't you, Danny?"

"Talking to me like a dog isn't helping me feel any better, Sam."

She laughed. "I know. Doesn't hurt though."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Gee, you guys are _such_ great friends. So considerate."

"You know it, buddy." Tucker's eye squinted, and he glared down at his PDA, muttering under his breath. By the sound of it, he was losing—bad. "No... _no_! Come on, you crummy graphic frog! Jump, _jump_!"

"Ahem."

Tucker looked up, pausing his game with practiced precision. Sam and Danny looked up with him, though Danny's raised head was barely visible under the borrowed hood of Tucker's emergency raincoat.

Mr. Lancer stared down at the teens, his lips pursed. "Do I need to confiscate that, Mr. Foley?" he droned. "Or are you going to _put it away_ and pay attention?"

"But the assembly hasn't started yet, Mr. Lancer." Sam blinked innocently, always the first to defy authority. Her sweet tone was obviously fake, though, and Danny struggled to muffle his snigger.

At the sound, Lancer stared at the hooded figure, his eyebrows raising. But he wasn't going to ask. He turned back to Foley and Manson. "Put away the PDA." He caught Sam's eye just as she was about to protest. "_Now_."

After he stomped away (most likely to take care of the ruckus coming from the last row of seats in the assembly-slash-theater room), Tucker immediately un-paused his game. "Yeah, yeah," he said to himself. "I'll put it away—as soon as I defeat the evil Zargon and rescue my frog-y princess!"

Danny peaked out from under the hood, gesturing with his head to Tucker. "What game is playing anyway?" he asked Sam.

She merely shrugged and leaned back in her seat, stretching out her long legs and closing her eyes. "Who even knows anymore?"

"True." He looked up at the stage, frowning in confusion. "And when's this thing going to star—"

"Casper High students!" a happy, nasally voice shouted over the loudspeakers. "How _are_ you today?" The spotlight shinned, and a lone woman stood on the stage, grinning in a way that certainly looked like it hurt.

Great, Sam thought. It was Dora's Miss Happy Teenage Pretty Princess Pageant all over again. All the woman was missing was the crown and sash, but other than that, she vaguely resembled Dora's human form, right down to the floor-length gown and the soaked-in-hairspray blonde hair.

"I'm Katrina Chopin," the lady continued too-cheerfully, "and I'm here to help motivate you to sell—" she reached into the podium beside her, grabbing some rectangular-shaped object "—_these_! Amity's Finest Chocolate Bars!"

Danny scoffed. "A fundraiser? You gotta be kidding me."

"Another attempt to drown the public's money just to fix the football stadium for the _third time_ in two years?" Sam shook her head. "That settles it. Pass."

"Pass," Danny and Tucker chorused together. They stopped paying attention, letting the overly peppy woman yap away without really hearing her. Even Tucker, who'd long-since finished his game, was bored out of his wits.

"When is this torture going to _end_?" Sam asked desperately, smacking her hand against her forehead. She'd never taken the term of dying of boredom very seriously, but now, she was seriously questioning it's possibility.

And then, just like that, Katrina was screaming at the top of her lungs, shouting things no well-collected lady should say, and making her way off the stage.

"What the heck was that?" Tucker asked, completely shocked.

"I think I got an idea," Danny murmured. A blue mist escaped his mouth, making him gasp. "Scratch that," he said. "I _know_ what that was." His eyes narrowed, looking around suspiciously. "And I don't think anyone's going to like it."

"Now that that annoying human is off the stage," an echoing voice declared, and not half-a-second later a pudgy green ghost in an overcoat appeared. He smiled wickedly at the crowd. "It's time for the real show to get started!"

Danny was just about to transform—and probably thank the ghost for having saved him from the boring assembly (after he'd stuffed it in the Fenton Thermos and gave it a soundly beating, of course)—when he suddenly became immobile. "What the..." He looked down. There, strapping him to his seat, was a belt. Curiously, Danny poked it, wincing away, yelping, when the thing electrocuted him.

Beside him, he heard Tucker mutter, "You know, to the people without ghostly super-endurance, this isn't comfortable in the least."

"I am Blaine!" the small ghost on the stage continued. "Master of _all_ Inter-Dimensional Fighting Entertainment—IDFE for short_—planning_!"

"A planning ghost?" Sam snickered. "What's he going to do? Boss us around to death?"

"And it's time for you to meet _my_ master!"

"Wait, what?"

"The ferocious, bloodthirsty, _brutal_..." Blaine paused for dramatic effect. "Pulverizer!"

Smoke fizzled from the sides of the stage, enveloping it altogether, until a ghost started to rise from it, cleverly phasing through the floor. He had a black mullet and freshly trimmed mustache, with black sunglasses perched on a stubby nose. With his bulking size—nearly double that of any heavy-weight champ—he, indeed, looked ferocious, as Blaine had said.

Pulverizer smiled once he was fully visible, the 50s-style microphone in his hand matching the 50s-style stripped suit he had on. "Hello, my pretties," he cooed. "Are. You. Ready. To _RUMBLE!_?"

The entire place shook with the force of his yell.

_No, wait_, Danny thought hesitantly. He looked up at the ceiling and gasped. The whole auditorium was shaking and not because of some steroid-pumped ghost's shouting.

Pulverizer tapped his chin, examining the assembly room. "This _all_ has to go," he said after a moment. "I need an actual wrestling ring."

"There's a stadium out back," Blaine said helpfully. "It would take less renovation than this."

The assembly room stopped shaking as Pulverizer thought. "True." He smiled. "Then it's time to call out the grunts." He clapped twice.

Almost immediately, various ghosts phased through the floor—_are those Walker's prison guards?_—and aimed at the students. "Hey!" Danny huffed when he felt one of them grab his shoulders. But it was too late, the guard had phased him out of his seat and was dragging him away. By the time he decided that it might be wise to turn ghost and fight off his holder, the guard had already dumped him on the school bleachers and another restricting belt held him in place.

Around him, his classmates weren't doing much better, though most seemed more apt to kicking and screaming wildly than actually trying to escape.

"And now, for the customary three-hundred-sixty degree viewing," Pulverizer sang happily. He lifted his arms, and the edges of the bleachers started to glow a menacing red. They shook for a moment, until, roughly, they smashed together at the sides. The metal groaned as it bended into a circle.

"Oh, goody," Pulverizer rejoiced, looking around him at the suddenly circular bleachers. They cut off about a quarter of the football field, being smooshed together as they were, but Pulverizer didn't care much for the ol' pigskin. He put his hands to his hips. "Now, where's my—"

A shadow passed overhead. Pulverizer looked up to find a group of ghosts carrying a giant square. There was no warning when they decided to go intangible, thus letting the object fall to the ground. When the dust cleared, it turned out to be a standard wrestling ring.

Pulverizer beamed. "Everything's coming together." He allowed himself a soft sigh. Then, the moment passed and he screamed irritably, "Technus!"

"I'm on it, I'm on it," a familiar nasally voice responded.

Danny looked up, and there, sitting calmly in the announcer's booth, was one Nicolai Technus. "Great," the half-ghost mumbled. "This is turning out to be like some type of crazy reunion. First Walker's guards and now _him_!"

"I am Technus! Master of all things electronic and beeping! And I shall have your mega-screens going in no time!" the technology ghost shouted through the loudspeaker. Sure enough, four giant television screens sprouted from the top of the bleachers, each carefully positioned to give every trapped teenager a perfect view of center-stage.

"Okay. Not cool," Tucker said drolly, staring in at the screens with narrowed eyes. "Why do the ghosts get the high-tech, high-definition televisions?"

Danny shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on Pulverizer. "They're ghosts. They're not really considerate about these types of things, Tuck. If you start to get jealous about all the junk ghosts can make appear, you'll just drive yourself crazy."

"Funny."

Even with his currently-trapped (thereby, useless) position, Danny smiled smugly.

The screens flickered on, showing what Danny already saw as Pulverizer walked to the center of his ring. The ghost poked his microphone, blowing air into it. "Is this thing on?" The sound carried well, echoing around the students. Pulverizer smiled. "Well then, time to get this show moving." He breathed in deeply. "Casper High students!"

Strange, Danny thought, how now _two_ people had addressed him and his classmates like that to start a speech. Except with Pulverizer, Danny was positive everyone was paying attention, shaking in fear as they did.

"I ask again," Pulverizer continued, "are you ready to _rumble_?" At the silence he received, he merely shrugged and gestured for his assistant.

Blaine rushed up to him awkwardly, doing a strange dance between running and flying. He handed his master two papers, and danced off-stage with the same un-gracefulness he'd entered.

"In my hands, I have two lists," Pulverizer went on to say.

Danny instantly paled. _Oh no_.

"Of the strongest—and weakest—among you." He shook out the papers. "Let's see who they are, to see who our contestants will be for this match. Starting with the strong. Listed at the fifth strongest on campus, one Andy Williams."

One of Walker's ghosts moved out, plucking the junior into the air. His screams, even without enhanced audio, were easily identifiable as he flown way too fast for any human to stand towards center-ring. When he was finally visible on the giant, overhead screens, he was shaking violently and looked like he was about to be sick. The guard that had taken him stood behind him, making sure he wouldn't make a run for it.

Danny felt his anger boil.

Pulverizer kept on reading. "In the number four spot, we have Butch Lapaine." Again, the guard flew out and grabbed the student, though the captain of the wrestling team was shrieking hysterically for his mommy somewhere between his seat and the ring. "At number three, Kwan Patel!" Surprisingly, the running back hardly struggled, only whimpered. "And ooh, isn't this interesting? For number two, we have the only girl on the list. Ladies and gentlemen, Valerie Gray!" This time, the process of plucking and disposing of the teenager took longer than normal.

Valerie wasn't going to surrender herself without a fight. She kicked at the ghost the moment it had released the belt holding her in place. Even as her classmates openly gaped, she continued to dodge and kick—back and forth, in that order. It took two guards to finally restrain her, but not without heavy damage on their part.

"A fighter, isn't she, folks?" Pulverizer laughed once she was secured within the ring. "It'll be fun watching _her_ fight." His expression sobered. "But now, for your number one!" On the speakers, Technus played some cheesy recording of drums rolling. "Dash Baxter!"

Unsurprisingly, at least to Danny, Dash didn't put up much of a fight, just whimpered like a school girl as a guard put him on his shoulder, and softly deposited him inside the ring once they reached it. From the screens, it was easy to tell just how badly his legs were shaking.

Pulverizer made a disappointed sound at the back of throat. "Huh," he said lamely, staring at Dash, "thought it'd be more interesting than that." One shoulder shrugged. "Oh, well." Regaining his earlier enthusiasm, Pulverizer gestured widely to the crowd of forced watchers. "And now, we present our clowns! The pre-show entertainment, if you will!"

Danny frowned, uncomprehending. "Clowns?"

"From weak to _weakest_, we have Timmy Sheffield, Larry Williams, Nathan Thomas, Mikey Smith, and—as your number one weakling, the weakest of the weak—Danny Fenton!"

Guards dashed into the crowd, picking up scrawny nerds as their names were called. When it was Danny's turn, he didn't fight it, though every instinct in his body was telling him to kick out to the ghost intruding on his personal space, to smash his face in with a well-placed ectoblast.

Danny let himself be carried, his mouth in a thin line all the way. When his feet touched down on the mat of the wrestling ring, his lip twitched, and he resisted the urge to hide half of his face in Tucker's coat and say mysteriously, _"I'm in."_ (He'd always wanted to say that, but he was a spectral superhero, not a government spy, so the chance never arose.) He knew he'd never would've made it inside the ring without going ghost. He'd somehow needed to get in as Danny _Fenton_. What better way than to go along with all the theatrics?

But now, he needed to figure out how to defeat this wrestling-obsessed ghost, with both his secret and everybody's safety intact. Danny grimaced. _Great_.

Around him, his fellow Weak Listers were a shrieking mess. One—Larry was it?—was even blubbering his brains out. In Danny's opinion, that was a slight overreaction, since the school had two ghost attacks at least twice a week; but since he was a Fenton and had been exposed to this type of thing before, well before he'd obtained his powers, he didn't know how much his opinions counted when judging others' reactions to ghosts.

Pulverizer set the pieces of paper in his hand on fire, incinerating them well before they touched the floor. He repositioned his sunglasses back to the top of his nose, grinning as he brought his mic closer to his mouth. "What a collection," he said, motioning to the small group of teenagers at the side of the ring. "Ain't it, folks?"

The crowd remained silent, cautiously eying the ghost.

"This is where you start to cheer," Technus suggested from the loudspeaker. The crowd seemed to hesitate. "Now!"

Halfhearted cheers rose, lame catcalls and wolf whistles barely audible over the confused muttering most of the students were doing.

Pulverizer rolled his eyes. "Pathetic," he spat. "Simply pathetic." He turned to his remaining guards. "Next time I pause dramatically, get up on those bleachers and _cheer_. Jump and dance and make complete fools of yourselves. Show those humans how to do it." Pulverizer turned back to his captives, automatically switching back to announcer mode. He smiled. "Then's it time for the show to commence!"

The ghosts behind each of the Strong List grabbed them and phased them outside of the ring, leaving the Weak List to fend for themselves. Their guards quickly left as well.

"For our first round," Pulverizer rumbled happily, floating off the ring himself, "we have our pre-show entertainment." He gestured towards those five still remaining inside the ring. "They're going to fight each other off until only one remains! That one shall advance to the next round!"

When Pulverizer paused (dramatically), the crowd cheered unenthusiastically.

The ghost frowned. "Still pathetic, but better." He looked down at the Weak List. "Since I know these five do not possess any type of defensive or offensive ability whatsoever, they are all going to fight at the same time for your viewing pleasure," Pulverizer drawled, smirking. "It's time for Round One, ladies and gentlemen!" A bell appeared next to him, floating in midair. "When I ring this bell—" he motioned to said instrument "—the fight shall commence."

Danny glanced around at the other four boys surrounding him. They were trembling fearfully, fidgeting as they looked up at the crowd and the ghosts surrounding the ring. Danny placed his hands up in a placating manner. "Hey," he whispered harshly, trying to get their attention. They jumped, but turned to him once they realized who had called them. "I know we have to fight each other, but I have a pl—"

"I don't wanna fight!" Mikey whined loudly.

"Shh!" Danny looked over his shoulder, making sure no one had heard him. "You need to stay calm," he ordered them. "There's not much we can do. But when the time comes, just throw in the towel."

Four pairs of eyes stared up at him blankly.

Danny felt like smacking himself. "Just give up," he clarified. "Throw yourself on the floor, pretend to be knocked out—it doesn't matter. Just make sure none of you actually _win_."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you want to win this fight?" he asked, slightly annoyed. "What about us? You're the number one on the Weak List, Danny. If anything Timmy should be the one to win."

The half-ghost merely stared at them as if to ask, _"Really?"_ An eyebrow quirked when he saw each of their expressions harden. He shrugged. "Do _you_ want to be the one to advance to next round, possibly to fend off one of the jocks?"

Nathan's resolve wavered. "Well...no..."

Danny turned to Timmy. "How about you?" he asked. "As the 'strongest' of us, do _you_ want to fight against a football player?"

"No way!" Timmy squeaked, shaking his head. "You can win, Danny. The thing's all yours."

The others murmured in agreement, capitulating.

"Good," Danny said, nodding. "Now, all we need is—"

"Who's ready for some good, old-fashioned butt-whopping?" Pulverizer shouted into his microphone.

The crowd's response was slightly more animated than before. Dash, who was standing in the sidelines, pumped his fist in the air, loudly declaring, "Wooh! Nerd fight!"

"Much better," Pulverizer said appreciatively. "Now, for the rules." He floated down, his bell following him, and touched down center-stage. "There are no rules! Just no killing, maiming, or excessive mutilation—but a little mutilation, that's fine. And if you fall out of the ring—or are thrown out—you are _out_. No winner's circle for you." He laughed and rung the bell. _Ring-ring!_ "Let the games begin!" He phased out of the ring, leaving the five teens to stand awkwardly next to each other.

"Remember, guys," Danny murmured lowly, "just throw in the—" He caught sight of them. All of the boys had thrown themselves to the ground, curled into little balls, and put their arms over their head. They whimpered from where they lied, trembling, their eyes shut tight. "—towel?" Danny blinked. He hadn't meant for them to take his advice in the literal sense...

Laughter exploded around them as Pulverizer blinked, too, totally stupefied. "Well, that was fast." He cleared his throat and approached Danny. He raised the boy's arm in the air and proclaimed loudly, "Winner!"

Danny was still staring down at the four boys crumpled on the floor in disbelief as the crowd roared at his victory.

* * *

><p><em>AN: There's the next chapter for ya! Next time, the actual fighting begins and things will actually be explained!_

_And it's almost my birthday! Yay! Was that just a shameless plug? Yes, yes, it was. Do I want you to give me something for my birthday? Well, you don't have to, but reviews are awesome!__ ;) —shameless advertising—  
><em>

_Thanks to _Codiak_, _Rogue Alice_, _MillionDollarNinja_, _Tipsy_, _PeterPandaBear_, _mizamoomoo_, _HidaKakuFangirl_, and _lolxxx_ for reviewing! You're all super awesome! And to the others who favorite'd and alert'd, you rock!  
><em>

_Keep those reviews coming and the next chapter gets up even faster!_


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